


Hold My Head High

by Rianne



Series: Kent Parson deserves nice things [6]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (mentions) - Freeform, Character Development, Coming Out, Homophobia, M/M, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 14:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rianne/pseuds/Rianne
Summary: It's not every day you get to talk to Kent Parson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The actual last bit of story, coming to you in three parts. (If you're new, start from the beginning of the series!) 
> 
> Let's go another six years into the future and see where that brings us...
> 
> Grateful as always to C for her beta work (and also everything else).

**November 2029**

“Adrienne?”

Adrienne Snow perks up at the sound of her name and quickly steps up to the crowded bar to snatch up her coffee.  There’s an extra shot of espresso in it. That might not be the best idea, but she had a late one last night, and it had been a real struggle to get out of bed this morning.

Speaking of which, if she doesn’t hurry, she’s going to be late for work. Again. Adrienne presses a lid on top of her cup and hurries back into the street.

It’s freezing. She hastily grabs her gloves and puts them on, wrapping her gloved hands around her coffee cup. It’s only November, and winter has barely even started. Toronto is going to get a hell of a lot colder before long. She doesn’t mind the cold, really, but somehow it’s harder to deal with in November, when she isn’t used to it yet, than in January, when it’ll be sub-zero for weeks.

The office is only a few blocks away. She’s settled at her desk not long after, sipping her coffee as her computer starts up. She smooths out her skirt. It’s a nice one, but not her nicest, because she couldn’t help but overthink her clothing choices just a little bit this morning. Hopefully she’s landed in the ballpark of looking good, but not looking like she tried too hard.

“Hey, Dree,” Elena says from the desk across. “Got your big interview today?”

Adrienne chuckles. “It’s just another interview, you know.”

“Well, not all of us get to interview Kent Parson.” Elena says it lightly, but Adrienne knows she really is pretty envious of Adrienne’s assignment. Elena is from Seattle, a die-hard Schooners fan, and she’s only twenty-four—young enough that Parson played in Seattle for most of her formative years.

“I’ll get you his autograph,” Adrienne jokes, even though they both know she won’t. They have colleagues who get autographs, for their kids or for themselves, but Adrienne prefers to keep things professional, even when she’s interviewing the guys she admires the most. It’s hard enough to be taken seriously as a female hockey journalist, even after she’s spent a decade in the business and seen the gender balance make ever more strides toward parity.

“Promises, promises.” Elena lets out a wistful sigh and turns back to her screen. “I should get back to this—I gotta go to the rink in a bit for morning skate, but I expect a full play-by-play of that interview over lunch.”

“I’m sure I can manage that,” Adrienne says. “And hey, look on the bright side: while I’m interviewing Kent Parson, you get to ask Auston Matthews about his power play unit for the fortieth time this season. That’s also very exciting.”

“Oh, shut up,” Elena says, but Adrienne can just see the edge of her grin where she’s turned away to her screen.

Adrienne’s computer has deigned to pull up the interview notes she prepared last night. She’s got half an hour left before her appointment with Parson, so she goes over them again, adding a couple of notes here and there. She re-reads the history of the charity he’s with, then the description of their upcoming campaign that they sent to TSN—and every other sports-related media company in the country. She’s pretty sure most others are just going to write a short article, or maybe the TV media might run some short pieces. Parson’s agent had sounded pleased when Adrienne called to ask about doing a longer piece, with a focus on why Parson’s charity work is important to him.

A glance at the clock tells her she needs to be heading downstairs to meet Parson. She swings by the printer on her way down, to get her notes, and checks that her recorder is in working order.

Parson is in the foyer, on one of the couches, leaning forward a little and concentrating on his phone screen. His social media presence since he retired has shifted from primarily photos of his cat to primarily photos of youth hockey players. She wonders if he’s uploading one of those now, or distracted by something else.

“Kent Parson?” she says, even though she obviously knows who he is.

He glances up and one corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk, as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Hi,” he says.

“Adrienne Snow.” She holds out her hand, and he shakes it.

His grip is firm. “Nice to meet you.”

He’s not-quite-young anymore, but he’s still very pretty. There’s beginning streaks of grey in his unruly blonde hair, and tiny laughter lines by his eyes, but he still looks like the all-American poster boy of hockey that he’s been for two decades now. His looks must be half of why he does so well in ad campaigns for his charity.

“Let’s head upstairs.” She leads the way, and a moment later she’s in an elevator with Kent Parson. Despite herself, she’s a little star-struck. The glamour of hockey players disappears fast when you interview enough of them. They’re all just people, and they can be moody or rude or just plain assholes as much as the next guy. Kent Parson seems different, though—because he’s not just any athlete. He’s generational talent, won Stanley Cups with two teams, topped every active player of the last three decades in the number of trophies he’s won. And he’s always been media-savvy and gorgeous to boot.

She shakes herself out of it. Like all other players, he deserves a professional interviewer. “I suppose you’re pretty swamped with media this month,” she says.

“A bit, yeah.” He smiles. “Most of it has been TV media so far. Been a while since I saw this many cameras in a week. It’ll be nice to do a print interview for a change.”

The elevator dings, and someone gets on with them. Adrienne doesn’t know him. He’s young—maybe an intern?—and his eyes widen when he sees Adrienne with Kent Parson beside her. She suppresses a chuckle. The newcomer presses a floor button above theirs and then studiously looks away.

Adrienne glances sideways. Parson looks like he’s trying hard not to smile, and when he sees her looking, he exchanges an amused glance with her.

A moment later, they’re in the meeting room she booked. “Would you like something to drink?” she asks as she puts her notes down on the table. “I’ve got to warn you, though, our coffee is terrible.”

He chuckles. “Just some water would be great,” he says.

“I’ll be back in a minute, then,” she says. She gets him a glass of water and herself a cup of tea. When she makes it back to the meeting room, Parson is eyeing her stack of notes.

“You’ve come prepared,” he says, a little teasing note in her voice. It’s almost flirtatious, but it doesn’t feel threatening, the way she’s occasionally experienced with other players.

“Always,” she says, pushing his water towards him. “So. Thanks for sitting down with me, Mr Parson—”

He shakes his head. “Just call me Kent,” he says.

She’s never met a player who _did_ prefer the formality, in all honesty, but it’s been drilled into her anyway, for settings like these. “Kent. Thanks for sitting down with me.” She takes a sip of her tea and holds up her tape recorder.

He’s nodding at her questioning look before she even has to ask—she imagines he’s lost count of the number of times he’s been in this situation—so she turns on the tape recorder and sets it down.

“So I wanted to talk a bit about Caribou Kids’ newest campaign and about what makes their work so significant for you personally,” Adrienne says. “I guess we should start with the new campaign. Can you tell me what the focus is?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kent says. He looks relaxed and open, and like he actually enjoys being interviewed.

A lot of the people she talks to see the media, and her by extension, as an unfortunate consequence of the career they’ve chosen. She’s regularly across from players that are various levels of sullen or just clearly not having fun, even when they’re doing their best to be polite. Kent Parson, on the other hand, seems at home in the chair across from her.

“So Caribou Kids offers sports programs for kids in Toronto, Montreal and Ottawa,” Kent says. He takes a sip of his water. “And we’re aimed at kids who aren’t going to get a chance to play sports if we’re not there. These are kids growing up in families where there’s not enough money to pay for a sports program, mostly, or where family circumstances are complicated—maybe there’s a sibling with a disability, or a parent with a serious illness, or a single parent. And for one reason or another, the kids that we work with have tough lives and they don’t get a lot of respite from that. So what we want to do is basically whatever it takes to get this kid to a sports program, where they can step out of their family life for a moment and be part of a team and develop new skills. So sometimes what that means is we offer sports for free or for a reduced price. Or sometimes we work with parents to get a kid to a rink or a field—by organizing for them to be picked up, for instance, or just by sitting down with someone to figure out what it takes to get a kid into a team.”

Adrienne likes how animated he gets when he talks about Caribou Kids’ work. She knows most of this already, of course—she did do her homework—but Kent sounds enthusiastic and proud, and it’s contagious.

“We rely on volunteers for a lot of what we do. Almost all of our coaches are volunteers, and we have lots more people who meet with families, pick kids up, you name it,” Kent goes on. “But we rely on donations for equipment and for our paid staff—our program coordinators in the cities we work in.”

“And your new campaign is aimed at summer camps, right?” Adrienne asks.

“Right, exactly.” Kent leans forward a little in his chair, intent. “So what we offer right now is sports programs during the school year. But we also want to give kids the chance to get out of their house for a longer while—because their house is often a really stressful place to be for the kids we work with. That’s something that’s either financially or practically out of reach for most of these families. So we’re going to set up sports camps during the summer. Every kid deserves a chance to go on vacation.”

She has a short list of additional questions about the summer camps, and Kent answers them all, taking sips of water during the questions he seems to consider most boring, talking with his hands when he gets more into it. He’s a fun interview. Adrienne spares a thought for Elena, who would go absolutely nuts about talking to Kent about his charity work.

“So what makes Caribou Kids’ work so important to you?” Adrienne asks.

She’s got some guesses about his answer. Kent has hinted in earlier interviews at his own past and the role hockey played for him, growing up. He never really expands on the topic, but she’d been told when the interview was booked that Kent would be interested in talking about it.

He becomes subtly calmer as soon as she’s asked the question. He bites his lip thoughtfully, and she wonders if he regrets promising to talk about this. “Yeah, uh,” he says. “I feel really personally connected to a lot of the kids I coach, at Caribou Kids.”

He doesn’t expand on his answer immediately, and after a short silence, she gently prompts him. “How come?”

“Well, uh. A lot of these kids live in families where there’s a lot of strife. Between parents, or between a parent and a sibling. There’s people in tough situations—finances that don’t work out, addiction, people who are in over their heads. And—Sorry, I’m still talking about them, I know I’m supposed to be talking about me,” he interrupts himself, grinning ruefully. “I don’t talk about this much, so…”

“It’s fine,” Adrienne says. “What did hockey mean to you, growing up?”

“It was… I don’t know, it was an escape, I guess,” Kent says. “My dad—He passed away years ago, decades really, before I even made it to the NHL. But it wasn’t—he wasn’t easy to be around. For my mom.” His fingers move restlessly on the table, and he doesn’t look at her, but she gets the feeling he does want to talk about this. “There was a lot of shouting, you know? Sometimes I got home from school and my house wasn’t a place where I wanted to be. And two days a week, I didn’t _have_ to be there—I could grab my gear and go to the rink, and be with my teammates and get on the ice. It was very freeing.” He takes a deep breath. “I want that for the kids I coach. I can’t fix all their problems—sometimes they’ve got problems nobody can really fix. But if I can let them forget, just for an hour, that’s something. Or if they can have a team and find friendships there, that’s something. Especially when those other kids on their team get what they were going through.”

She nods and tries to come up with a good follow-up question. “So your parents had a difficult relationship,” she prompts.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and he still looks a little uncomfortable, but he continues, “It was like that throughout my childhood. It’s a long time ago, obviously, but it was—it had a pretty big impact on me, I guess. My father could be very—” He takes a deep breath. “He said and did a lot of things I was angry about for a long time. And it’s a lot of responsibility that you feel like you take on as a kid. Like, I’d feel responsible for keeping the peace, even though I know now that I _wasn’t_ responsible for that. So it’s—That kind of stuff, it has a big impact on your life. And hockey was an escape for me.”

He looks relieved at the end, to have brought his answer back to hockey. It makes Adrienne smile a little. But his words have made her curious, and she asks a follow-up that’s definitely not in her notes. “So your parents weren’t good models when it came to relationships,” she says. “Is that—You’ve been single throughout your career. Do you think your home life as a child had an influence on that?”  She realizes as she said it that it’s a pretty impertinent question, and definitely not about Caribou Kids anymore. But she’s already asked it, and she does want to know.

He tilts his head to the side and meets her eyes, his gaze thoughtful. It’s quiet for long seconds as he contemplates an answer. Eventually, she concludes she must’ve gone too far with the question.

Just as she opens her mouth to suggest they talk about something else, though, he takes a deep breath and lets it out on a sigh, and then he says, “Do you want a scoop?”

“What?” she says, even as she instinctively leans forward.

“Do you want a scoop,” he repeats, and he’s smirking now, just a bit.

“Yes,” she says, because she’s a journalist, and there’s no other acceptable answer to that question.

He glances at the tape recorder, and there’s a flash of nerves across his face, but then he just looks determined. He takes another deep breath and says, “I’ve been married for six years.”

Adrienne stares at him. “What?” she says. The recording of this interview is apparently going to feature her biggest scoop ever as well as her complete lack of journalistic prowess.

He lets out a breathless chuckle. “Six years this past summer.”

She thinks for a moment that she maybe _should_ have known that—because she’s supposed to have done her research on this guy, and how could she miss a _marriage_?—but then she remembers he said this would be a scoop. So clearly this actually was a secret.

“Uh, um,” she says. “Married to whom?”

Kent smiles a little, and his voice is quiet when he says, “To the love of my life.” It's very cute and also completely unhelpful. He’s obviously aware of it—he takes a sip of water, puts his glass down in a measured movement, and says, “So uh. The reason you don’t know this—the reason almost nobody knows this—is the love of my life is a man.”

Adrienne has no thoughts in her head. Whatever she thought she was going to hear today in this interview, this wasn’t on the list of possibilities.

Kent Parson’s hands are trembling on the table across from her, but he looks at her steadily while she tries to think of something intelligent to say.

“Wow,” she breathes. “I can—I can print this, right?” Kent Parson is—what, gay? Bisexual? Queer? She doesn’t really know the word, but she does know that she’s stumbled into the story of the decade here.

He rakes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, why the hell not,” he says. “It’s about fucking time, anyway. Uh, don’t print that though.” He grins at her, boyish and confident and definitely with a hint of anxiety, all at the same time.

“Okay,” she says. She takes a deep breath and gets her act together. “Okay. You realize this is going to be the headline, right?”

Kent huffs out a laugh. “I guess it is. I don’t actually—I don’t wanna steal the spotlight from Caribou Kids though.”

“I think this might double your spotlight,” Adrienne says. He still looks doubtful, so she adds, “Why don’t we meet again next week and finish talking about Caribou Kids?”

“That works,” he says. He takes another deep breath. “All right. Go.”

“Okay,” she says again. “So. What—who’s your… your husband?”

He smiles, and his entire expression goes soft and warm. “You probably know him, actually,” he says. “He works for Sportsnet, on the late portion of _Hockey Night in Canada_.” She’s going through the lineup in her head before she knows it—and most of those guys are too old or too married to women, but— “Tomas,” Kent says, just as she’d reached that conclusion herself. Shit, she’s _met_ Tomas Nadeau, at press events here or there. She can’t yet wrap her head around the idea of him and Kent.

“Does he know you’re telling me this?” she asks, even as the implications sink in. Damn, so Nadeau—one of the few openly-gay faces of the hockey reporting world—has secretly been married for years. To Kent Parson, one of the biggest names in hockey _ever_.

Kent laughs. “No. I mean, we’ve been talking about it—if I wanna go public and all that—and I have his blessing, but yeah, no, I didn’t exactly plan this out. So if you’re hoping to send this out into the world right after this interview, I’d appreciate a ten-minute grace period so I can give him a heads-up.”

“Yeah, not a chance I’m getting this out that fast anyway. I’m saving this for a full article,” Adrienne says.

He nods, suddenly looking a little nervous again. “Okay. You have more questions, right?”

Oh, does she have more questions. She’s only got this room booked for another fifteen minutes, but if any colleagues show up, they’re just going to have to wait. She glances at her now-useless notes, and then back up at Kent. There’s really only one place to start. “So. What do you want people to know?”

 

         -------------  


**TSN** @TSN_Sports · 56m

From @AdrienneSnowTSN: Kent Parson on his NHL career as a closeted gay man.

[LINKED ARTICLE—“KENT PARSON: THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS A MAN”]

|

**Adrienne Snow** @AdrienneSnowTSN · 51m

I sat down with Kent Parson today to talk about Caribou Kids. We did that, but we also talked about his sexuality, his husband, and playing hockey when people don’t know who you really are. Most unexpected and fascinating interview of my life.

 

**Kent Parson** @kvparson90 · 4m

Thanks @AdrienneSnowTSN for a great interview. For anyone who doubts her reporting: Yes, I have been married to @TomasNadeau for six years. And yes, I am gay.

|

**Kent Parson** @kvparson90 · 3m

I know everyone else wants to interview me too right now. Taking the rest of the day to be with my husband (<3 you), so I won’t be available for comments or questions.

|

**Kent Parson** @kvparson90 · 3m

I want to talk about this and share my story & am thinking about ways to do so while protecting my privacy and Tomas’ privacy.

|

**Kent Parson** @kvparson90 · 1m

In the meantime, everyone who has said kind words about this: please consider donating to You Can Play or Caribou Kids. I look forward to figuring out together how to make hockey a better place for kids like me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kent did not come out in the main story, because he didn't need to come out to have his growth and get his happy ending. But I always did think there would come a time when he would want to, and I didn't want to deprive you all of it. 
> 
> Let me know what you think by leaving me a comment <3


	2. Chapter 2

**December 2029**

As the phone rings on the other end, Damian contemplates the possibility that Parse has changed his number, sometime in the last decade. If he did, Damian could probably get it somehow—he definitely has Swoops’ current number, and he knows Swoops is still in touch with Parse—but then he’d have to explain to people why he suddenly wants to talk to Parse. 

It’s quiet in the house. Damian got back from practice half an hour ago. Now Kate’s gone out to get groceries, and Marie is having a nap upstairs. She’s probably going to sleep for another hour. Damian would normally take this time to have a nap, too, but now he’s using the peace and quiet for this phone call. If Parse is ever going to pick up, that is.

“Hello?”

Damian starts when the dial tone is suddenly replaced with Parser’s voice. His voice hasn’t changed. Not that there’s any reason to think that it would. It’s been over a decade since they last had a conversation, but Damian has seen the occasional presser, especially around Parse’s retirement two years ago. And, of course, in the last couple of weeks.

“Hey, uh, hey,” he says, settling a little more on the couch. “It’s Damian. Scotty. Damian Scott.” Great, he sounds like he’s back in high school, trying to ask out his first girlfriend. Actually, he shouldn’t think of it that way. He shouldn’t think about dates in the context of Parse, because that’s just gonna make him feel uncomfortable. He’s had six weeks to get used to the idea that Parse is _gay,_ that he was gay all along, even when he was around Damian all the time, but it’s still weird.

“Hey,” Parse says, and he sounds more wary now than he did when he first picked up. Apparently, Damian is worse than just an unknown caller. He probably deserves that.

“You got a minute?” Damian asks.

He hears a rustle in the background, then a door closing. “I guess,” Parser says.

Damian takes a deep breath. “I read your article.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay.” Parse still sounds cautious. Neutral. Did he ever sound like that, back when they were teammates? Damian mostly remembers Parse as outgoing, upbeat, firing the team up through optimism and a drive to win that dragged everyone else along.

On the coffee table, Damian’s iPad is just switching to black, but if he turned it back on he’d find the _Player’s Tribune_ article that Parser wrote. The one in which he describes hating his old team so much that it almost made him quit hockey.

Damian has read it about a dozen times, since it was published last week.

“I uh. I wanted to apologize,” he says.

“Oh,” Parse says, barely more than an exhale. He says nothing else—he doesn’t make it any easier on Damian. Not that he owes him that.

Damian takes a deep breath. “You obviously had an awful time when you were playing with us, and I know that wasn’t just me, but I—I said some shitty stuff. And I let other people say shitty stuff. And I’m sorry.”

It’s quiet for a little while. Damian hasn’t been this nervous since his last contract negotiations. It’s honestly kind of cathartic to apologize, but he half expects Parse to either hang up on him or start yelling at him. The tone of his _PT_ article wasn’t exactly friendly.

“Thanks,” Parse says, just when Damian starts to wonder if he’d been hung up on. “I appreciate that.”

Damian nods at Kate’s fancy abstract painting across the living room. “Good,” he says, kind of uselessly. “So, uh, how are you doing? I mean, you don’t have to answer that. And we can stop talking if you, you know, hate me. I mean—” Great, he’s a total disaster. He rubs at his forehead.

Parse lets out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. And yeah, I’m—good, I guess. It’s been kind of hectic.”

“Well what did you expect, Parse?” Damian says, his relief that Parser probably doesn’t hate him immediately putting him in a chirping mood.

On the other side, there’s a sucked-in breath. “Don’t call me—I go by Kent.” His tone is terse, all of a sudden, and almost brittle.

Damian saw an interview with him last week. _“Yeah, I guess it was—I guess it traumatic,”_ he’d said in the TV studio, running a hand through his still-wild-as-ever curls. “ _I know we don’t talk about that sort of stuff in hockey, but it was, because I never felt safe. It was—the weirdest things remind me and take me back, sometimes. It was intense.”_

“Sorry,” Damian says, and then, suddenly curious, “Did the Schooners not nickname you?”

“They just called me Kent. Or Bogey sometimes,” Parse—Kent says. He already sounds better again. “I suck at golf.”

“You don’t even _play_ golf.”

Kent chuckles. “I did with them. They weren’t impressed.”

“They were better teammates, eh?” Damian says, and he manages not to sound bitter or envious or even very guilty.

“God, yeah,” Kent says immediately, heartfelt, and then, “I mean, not that you weren’t—”

“No, it’s fine.” Damian doesn’t want the conversation to slide back into awkward silence, so he says, “So you’re married now, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kent says. “God, that’s still weird. That random people know, I mean, not the being-married part.”

Damian can’t relate, because he boasts about his amazing wife to everyone who will listen. “Yeah, it must be,” he says. “Nadeau, eh? I—You should tell him I’m sorry, too.”

Kent actually sounds like he’s smiling, now. “Yeah, I will,” he says. “You got a wife and kid, right?”

“Yeah,” Damian says. “Been with Kate for six years now, married for three. We’re expecting our second in a month or so. And Marie just turned two.”

“Cute.”

“Yup.” They fall silent again, even though Damian normally doesn’t have a problem raving about his family. “I should go,” Damian says eventually.

“Game tonight?” Kent says.

“Yeah, the Flyers.”

“Cool.”

“Do you miss it?” Damian asks. He’s probably on his last contract—he’s 36, and his play hasn’t been the same since he tore his meniscus two seasons ago. He’s ready for his knee to not hurt every day, but he’s not ready to leave hockey behind or to stop being part of a team.

Kent hums, considering. “Not so much now,” he says. “In the beginning, yeah. It’s funny, when I was with the Aces I thought I’d never get over it, if I had to quit someday.”

“But… I thought playing here was awful?”

“Yeah, but…” Kent hesitates. “Guess I didn’t know who I was without hockey, you know? Turns out playing was more fun after that, and it also sucked less to quit. But it still sucked for a while.”

“Makes sense,” Damian says, even though he doesn’t really get it. But he’s taken up enough of Kent’s time. “All right, well, I should go.”

“Yeah,” Kent says. “Hey, thanks for getting in touch. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Damian says. “And if you ever need anything—well, I owe you.”

“Thanks. Knock ‘em dead tonight,” Kent says, and then the line goes quiet.

Damian puts his phone down and takes a deep breath. Well, he can definitely do with a nap now. Just as he gets up, he hears a “Dada!” from upstairs. Great.

He sighs, but he’s still smiling as he heads up the stairs. Maybe if he lets Marie play on the bed with him, he can still doze for a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Growth, y'all.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Players’ Tribune | The Voice of the Game**

 

**_We Can Be Better_ **

_By Kent Parson_

_December 3, 2029_

_Four weeks ago, I was sitting across from a journalist who had just asked me why I’d been single throughout my career._

_I’ve been asked some form of that question more than I can remember. Sometimes it was ‘why are you single?’ More often it was ‘Why don’t you have a girlfriend?’ I’ve lost track of the lies I’ve told. That I’m not good with commitment. That I haven’t found the right person. That I have such a busy life, a girlfriend wouldn’t fit in._

_But last month, I’d had enough of lying._

_So I told her the truth._

_I’m great with commitment. I’ve found the right person. And Tomas fits my busy life perfectly._

_I know I’m not the first player to come out. And I want to thank the guys who told their truths before I told mine, for making my choice a little easier now._

_Playing hockey has always been one of the great joys of my life. Hockey gave me a voice and so many opportunities I wouldn’t have had without the sport that we all love so much._

_But it was never easy for me to be gay in a hockey dressing room. I carried my truth with me like a shameful secret for many years. Not every locker room is the same, and the league has improved throughout my career, and I have received amazing support from teammates to whom I am incredibly grateful. But I want to talk about what I went through, because if you are a young queer athlete yourself, I want you to know: I see you, and I have been there, and you can make it through._

_I have sat on NHL dressing room benches while teammates insulted referees or other teams with terms that applied to me. I have seen friends—people I had to trust to have my back on the ice—ridicule guys behind their back, or threaten them to their face, because they slept with other men. I have seen other players who came out be subject to disgusting chants from fans. And no, it wasn’t every guy. But it never needed to be every guy to be unbearable._

_I have had panic attacks in bathroom stalls because I could not stand the thought of someone finding out about me, because I thought if they did, my career would be over._

_There has been speculation about my trade for years, and I will lay some of it to rest: I didn’t stay with the team that drafted me, because I reached a point where I would rather quit hockey—a sport I have loved more than anything in my life since I was a child—than stay and live through another month there._

_They didn’t know about any of this, because they never made it safe for me to tell them._

_I want hockey to be better than this, because I know we CAN be better. We can be a place where every player can be himself. I know because I have had so many teammates who were there for me and accepted me for who I was. I know because in the past month, I have received so much support from fans, from current and former players, from people in the media._

_I have a few more things I want to say._

_To the teammates and players who have supported me, or who are speaking up in their dressing rooms to make them safe: You’re amazing. Keep doing what you’re doing._

_To LGBT players in the NHL—or AHL, or anywhere—who keep their identities private: You do you, and you know where to find me if you need me._

_To fans of our great sport: Let’s make it better together._

_To my husband: Tomas, I love you, and I know you know how excited I am not to have to hide that anymore. Thank you for your patience._

_And to the kids who are just kids now, who are going to grow up and play hockey and realize that they aren’t straight when they’re ten or fourteen or twenty or thirty: I’ve been there. And I took a long time to get to this point. But I’m here now, and I know one thing: I am going to make this better for you than it was for me, if it’s the last thing I do._

_Kent Parson_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual end <3 <3 Thanks for all the support, let me know what you think, and I apologize for not a lot of Tomas being in this last bit of epilogue. If it helps, he's living his dream working for HNIC and he's thrilled to be openly with Kent now :D


End file.
